


The Burden of The Bond

by Theatreandcomicfreak



Category: Maribat - Fandom
Genre: F/M, MariBat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatreandcomicfreak/pseuds/Theatreandcomicfreak
Summary: Damian was taught that soulmates were a weakness. So at the age of nine he sets off to Paris to kill his own.After a narrowly escaped death, Marinette has never stopped running. Almost seven years had passed since that day, and she had yet to be found.That is, until she gets to Gotham.There she meets her soulmate again...but he couldn't be?This Damian is nothing like the one who tried to kill her.Will she decide to give him her trust? Or will she run for the rest of her life?
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne, more to be added prolly
Comments: 23
Kudos: 237





	1. Part 1

“W-why are you doing this?” Marinette whispered as she felt tears sting her eyes.

“Why?!” Asked the boy holding the knife. He walked closer to her, Marinette countered by walking backwards steadily until she ran into the wall behind her.

Trapped, like a cornered animal.

“Because of this!” He yelled, bringing his blade closer to her with a violent swing. Marinette flinched and placed her hands to protect her face as she squeezed her eyes shut. After a split second Marinette dared to open them again after feeling no blade pressed to her.

She saw his eyes first. They were a tortured, violent green with a hint of excitement behind it all. She shuddered at them, devoid of love and seemingly at peace with it. She ventured to look to the rest of his face.

_He couldn’t have been older than her._ She realized with horror.

Marinette’s gaze travelled to what the boy wanted her to see. On the side of his neck, in tiny font was a word, her name, in the same sickly green color as his eyes.

Her name.

Marinette gasped. “D-Damian?” She asked meekly, remembering what her own neck read.

The boy—Damian—nodded.

Her soulmate was trying to kill her…

Marinette woke up with a start. She rubbed her temples, and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She heard the slight humming of the train she was on slowing to a stop. She woke up at the perfect time.

She saw her opening and took it, jumping out of the boxcar she held her breath and pushed her nightmare away. She had the same one every night since she left Paris.

Marinette tumbled onto the ground, it wasn’t a graceful landing, but she wasn’t hurt. She glanced up at the dreary night sky. Gotham wasn’t a pretty place. The smoke polluted the air and crime was like breathing to its inhabitants, but in a city of millions, Marinette knew her soulmate wouldn’t find her.

_Damian_. The only thing she knew about him was that he was sick and twisted, and yet, some self-destructive part of her wanted to see him again. Sometimes she hoped that he had changed.

But she knew he hadn’t.

He tried to kill her and she had to look out for herself above all else.

Maybe it was selfish, but Marinette really didn’t want to die. Especially at the hands of her soulmate. Someone she once thought she’d love forever. Not fear forever.

Marinette brushed her fingers against her neck. It still had Damian’s name in perfect, pink scripture. She had tried to scrub it off so many times, but no matter how bloody and red the side of her neck got Damian’s name never faded.

With a sigh, Marinette made her way into the night. Finding somewhere remote to sleep was the first priority.

As she roamed through the streets warily, taking mental notes of all the thugs staring at her like she was an easy score, she reassessed her choice to go to Gotham.

Scratch finding somewhere to sleep—trying to _survive_ was now the first priority.

Although when faced with death at the hands of her soulmate and one from a total stranger, Marinette would take her murder with grace. She had always considered ending it...but she really didn’t want to give her soulmate the satisfaction.

After all those years, his words still rang in her head.

_“No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I will find you. And when I do, I will end you.”_

Marinette took a deep breath in. She closed her eyes for a spell, trying to regain control.

When she closed them all she saw were Damian’s eyes though.

She could never forget his eyes.

_“I would’ve ended you mercifully here, but since you’ve decided to make it hard I’ll do the same. When I find you again I’ll take great pleasure in making your last moments miserable.”_

Opening her eyes with a shaky breath, Marinette let out a strained chuckle. Little did her soulmate know, she was already miserable.

In her mind Marinette knew Damian would be as old as her now, but she could still only imagine the nine year old who threatened her almost a decade ago.

She had nightmares of a _nine_ year old.

If she wasn’t so stubborn, Marinette probably would’ve already died of embarrassment.

Sighing, on auto-pilot as she was immersed in her own thoughts, she settled into a shady, abandoned warehouse to settle for the night.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow (October 5th) marks a year of when I started writing omg! This chapter is dedicated to all my readers, new and old, I love you all and you never fail to make my day <3

After walking through Gotham for only a few weeks Marinette had already adjusted her routine and mannerisms. Every time she took a step in the dark, gloomy city was a step closer to danger.

In a way, it was almost training for her. A reminder to stay on her guard. That no matter what could happen to her in this godforsaken city, there was still a threat looming out there that was far worse.

Sucking in a breath, Marinette began to take a casual stroll down the street, on the lookout for any signs of trouble. 

The longer she stayed in Gotham the more she realized that she stuck out like a sore thumb. Not because of her dirty clothes, that was normal here, in fact if she ever had worn something else (like clothes she used to sketch out back when she wanted to go into design) she might’ve stuck out even more. No, it was because of how she acted.

Timid and meek, caring at times, always letting others push through her. She was nothing like the shrewd Gothamites who thrived off of the cruelty they were forced to show. How odd that a  _ place  _ could do that to a person. Harden them past the point of no return. Marinette could feel the darkness emitting from Gotham the moment she arrived, it almost shook her. Though, she had experienced far more darkness…

After so long of running in constant fear and never treated better than a mere extra in a movie, one would think Marinette would’ve made a tougher exterior for herself, and yet, she stayed soft in some ways. To blend in though, she realized that would have to change.

Gathering some Gotham standard courage and abrasion, Marinette squirmed her way through a large crowd walking down a bustling street. When she was gifted with glares and some obscenities she knew she was getting all the better at hiding in the crowd.

She breathed in the polluted air and let out a sigh as she walked past a somewhat abandoned looking bakery. It seemed to be filled with cobwebs inside, and it had a rather dilapidated exterior, but it still managed to make Marinette’s heart ache.

She thought of the days in the bakery with her parents...they were warm and loving. Her dad smelled like bread and flour while her mother always seemed to smell of flowers and pastries. She could almost breathe in their soothing scents now.

Blinking back tears, she took a shaky breath. Leaving them was necessary for both their safety and her own. She couldn’t put it past Damian to go after her family. 

It didn’t make leaving hurt any less though…

Taking a deep breath inwards, Marinette focused back on those days. Spilling flour all over herself, laughing with her old friends, making quasi dresses for her dolls. She set on a relieved smile, the memories were one thing that  _ he _ could never take away from her. Not that all of them were pleasant, but even the bad times still made her wish she was back in Paris.

Sometimes Marinette wondered where she would be if she had a different soulmate, or even had  _ none _ . Maybe she could’ve been a designer, the thought made her chest flutter, she still had a small passion for fashion.

Reflecting on her past hobby, Marinette let out a contented sigh. She closed her eyes for a split second before realizing she was still in front of the bakery, simply standing in front of the window.

She shook herself out of it and chastised herself for not staying vigilant. She continued walking down the street, taking in the different sights and sounds. Hyperfocusing on the people leisurely walking down the sidewalk, scanning for familiar faces, remembering that recognizing one could spell her doom.

Clenching her hands into fists, Marinette ventured on. She found herself near one of Gotham’s many dark alleys. 

The occasional noise from an alley was expected, but Marinette was certainly not expecting a blood curdling scream.

The busy street kept moving however, nobody sparing even a look to where the sound had come from.

Marinette stopped in her tracks, earning her dirty looks from those behind her.

“Help me! Someone help me,  _ please _ !” A feminine voice cried out.

Marinette began to peer down the alley, but wasn’t able to get a good look at what was going down.

“S-shouldn't someone help them?” She asked shyly, almost to herself.

The question gave a myriad of responses, but each eye roll, scoff, “Batman will come soon,” and chuckle gave the same answer; don’t bother.

Another scream came from the alley.

Logically, Marinette knew if there was a real problem, she wouldn’t be much help, but yet something in her wanted to  _ move _ .

Whimpers and yelps followed, Marinette still dumbfounded and stuck in place.

She grit her teeth as she wondered what to do.

Should she try to help? Should she run in the other direction?

The choice seemed murky to her, but before she knew it…

Her feet moved on their own.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence! As always school is a b i t c h. Tbh I’ve been slowly losing motivation (for a number of reasons), but I’m really hoping that you guys can expect more frequent updates from now on 🥰

A knife slash to the arm and a whole lot of bruises later, Marinette emerged from the alley victorious. The victim had thanked her profusely although confused as to why Batman hadn’t intervened before she did.

‘ _ Batman can’t be everywhere at once,’  _ Marinette mused to herself, even without ever being a hero herself, she knew that. It was almost silly how she could be rational and logical in a situation such as this, yet jump at every shadow around her, thinking Damian might emerge from one to end her.

Marinette clutched her bleeding arm. She’d have to get it bandaged. It’d knock a bit out of her already low funds (especially because transferring euros to USD is hard when not a legal citizen of America), but it was either that or be severely weakened and risk death if her soulmate ever did come find her.

She huffed, some soulmate he was. Sometimes she had entertained thoughts that he might’ve changed, but she quickly realized that that kind of thinking from her heart would get her killed. Marinette refused to make herself easy prey, so locking away emotions was one of her main tactics.

She absolutely despised that she still craved for Damian to be a good person. It didn’t make sense, not after what he’d done to her and what he’d forced her to become. What naivety she had. 

Yet on the other hand she acknowledged the darker side that Damian was her soulmate. How terrible a person, how screwed up, was she that the person she was “destined” to be with wanted to kill her? Did she deserve it? Would she end up deserving it? Were soulmarks even fate or were they just a cruel form of entertainment for those who created them?

With a sigh Marinette strode down the bustling street, injured arm still clutched. Self-deprecating thoughts weren’t going to help her survive. Neither was questioning the universe’s will or  _ whatever  _ soulmates were. She internally smacked herself in order to keep herself going and to stay out of her thoughts. She saw a general looking store ahead, one that looked like the type to have a small pharmacy. Bandages would likely be found there.

A bell chime dinged as she walked through the store. Ignoring the quizzical look she was given from the front cashier she made her way to the back of the store where the flickering “pharmacy” sign was. As she searched, slightly frantically, for some cheap bandages she heard a loud whistle from behind her.

“Quite the injury you got there,” remarked a rough voice.

Marinette spun around like a terrified animal, subconsciously getting into a fighting stance.

The stranger held her hands up in mock surrender, “Hey, hey, no judgment here. I’ve had my fair share of cuts.”

Somehow Marinette could tell, she knew it was rude to judge someone’s appearance but in her defense brightly dyed blue hair, piercings and leather clothing where there weren’t any scars didn’t exactly paint a “I-had-an-incredible-life” story.

Not that Marinette was one to judge, trauma knows trauma after all. Glancing down to the out of place, bright red shirt beneath the woman’s leather jacket Marinette caught sight of a name plate.

“Harper.” The blue haired woman—Harper—offered, “You?”

Marinette was hesitant to answer.

Harper chuckled a bit, “You don’t have to give me a real name sweetheart, I think you can tell I’ve got no ties with the cops.”

“It’s...Nette.”

Harper raised a brow but didn’t comment on the name (or the terribly faked American accent), “Well Nette, need some help with that slash there? Looks like it cut pretty deep.”

Marinette paused as if to assess the situation. She knew Harper was probably no threat, but there was also no guarantee of that…

“Here,” Harper said, pulling a first aid kit off the top shelf, “I get an employee’s discount here, so how ‘bout you let me get this at least. If you don’t want a stranger patching you up, I understand that, but the offer still stands.”

“Uhm...no offense, but you don’t quite look like the kind of person to patch someone up…” Marinette whispered to the floor.

Harper laughed loudly (and a bit obnoxiously if Marinette was being honest), “Hey, at least you’re honest. I get that a lot though, don’t worry. Even if nobody says it outright you can tell I don’t really look the type to be manning a pharmaceutical.”

_ ‘That’s why she was in the back,’ _ Marinette thought. 

“I know my way around bruises,” Harper said, face suddenly growing dark before getting a slight light to it, “I know my way around healing them too...in a  _ batty  _ way you could say.”

Harper smirked as if she made some kind of joke, or told a secret that only she knew.

“Alright, c’mon kid, let’s get you all fixed up.” Harper grinned, “Hey! I’m taking my break now!”

“Whatever.” Was shouted from the front of the store.

Harper rolled her eyes and led Marinette to a chair near the pharmacy. She motioned for her to sit, to which Marinette obliged.

“Care to tell me your story, kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the first meeting (of many) of Marinette’s first bat. This is post Harper’s retirement from vigilantism btw. Idk if it’s just me but Harper is one of my favorite bats (even though she’s underrated IMO) and I’ve been dying to have her interact with Marinette.


End file.
